


'Cause I am

by softgrungeprophet



Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, M/M, True Love's Kiss, spectacular spider-man (2003), vegetative flash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-26 06:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19762150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: True love's kiss doesn't really work like it does in the movies.





	1. Peter

**Author's Note:**

> set during the era of the early 2000s Spectacular Spider-Man (Jenkins/Ramos) when Flash was starting to recover from his coma and Peter was helping to take care of him.  
> \--  
> Title from Blink 182's "[I'm Lost Without You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tyn6qcQt3QA)"

Peter leaned back, hand up on Flash's shoulder as he watched MJ leave the café.

Always off doing her own thing, following her passions.

He wondered sometimes if he could learn a thing or two from her.

"God..." Peter let his hand drift gently to the back of Flash's neck. "I love that crazy woman."

Flash let out a sigh—all he ever seemed to do, sighing out uneven breaths, heavy-lidded and wordless. Big and sunken-cheeked and tired-eyed. Sitting there with that worn-out, sad expression on his face.

But a tiny squeak jabbed its way out between the bustle of steam nozzles and café chatter, snagging Peter's attention.

He looked down with a small breath.

He must have imagined it.

That stupid squeaky alien thing with its bulgy little eyes half-closed just like Flash's. His fingers loose and his posture drooping—the toy threatened to fall out of his hand for what must have been the hundredth time, and Peter himself sighed too, as he took it from Flash and shoved it into his pocket.

Probably time to go home, get Flash on the couch or something. Get him fed and let him lay down for a bit.

Anyway, it wasn't as thought the smell of roasting coffee could wake him up, and it was starting to get to Peter. Burnt and heavy in his gut.

"We could both do with some fresh air, huh?"

No point staying any longer now that MJ had left.

He took his time with Flash, on the walk home. It was a little nippy out, but nice, and sunny. The sidewalks were mostly clear of leaves, except where they settled into small piles in nooks and corners, alongside the curbs, and so on. Colorful and crisp, the sharp smell of tannins and disintegrating leaf litter subtle under the everyday smells of Manhattan.

Peter stopped in the shade of a tree—he'd walked them farther than he realized, absorbed in his thoughts. Not too far from a bus stop... Not ideal, but slightly more accessible than the subway.

He put the brakes on Flash's wheels, just in case, and moved around in front of Flash to brush his hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. Briefly, Peter pressed the back of his hand to Flash's forehead. Looked at him closely. A little flushed from the cold breeze, but not feverish or shivering. The same quiet, low expression.

Peter let his hand drift down from Flash's forehead to his cheek, brushing his knuckles across the soft skin there.

"...'s weird not to have you yakkin' at me all the time."

Of course, Flash didn't respond.

Peter sighed and unlocked the wheelchair so he could turn them around and head to the bus stop.

***

Peter shut the door behind him with his foot as he pushed Flash's rickety hospital wheelchair into the darkness of his apartment. He switched the light on with his elbow.

"You ready to take a nap? 'Cause I am."

He parked Flash next to the couch. Stood there looking at him. Deflated a little.

He knew Flash was in there. His pupils dilated when the light changed. His breathing varied by situation. He'd shown increased brain activity before the hospital released him. He was still Flash. It was just weird and different, not to have his boisterous energy or infectious smile or stupid jokes.

Peter even missed the things he used to think were annoying, like Flash's constant false bravado and aversion to serious conversation.

(Not that Peter was any better.)

He rubbed his forehead, before emptying his pockets to toss his wallet onto the couch.

That little green alien fell out, too—he'd almost forgotten about it.

Peter squeezed it, and it let out a pathetic squeak as its eyeballs bugged out.

It reminded him of a frog, just a little bit. Especially with the eyes like that. A little green, alien amphibian. Maybe if he gave it a crown and kissed it, it would come to life.

Another wheezing squeak fizzled from its cheap body as he squeezed it again, watching its eyes grow wide, and then narrow into slits again. He raised his own eyes from the alien frog to Flash, still holding it in his hand as he looked at Flash's face.

"C'mere, Sleeping Beauty." Peter sat on the arm of the couch and tucked the squeaky toy into Flash's hands.

He couldn't bring himself to let go. Instead, wrapped his fingers around Flash's, squeezing gently until he heard the alien squeak under the pressure he exerted on Flash's lax grip. Again, that little wheeze as he loosened his hold.

Peter sort of laughed to himself, under his breath. "Sleeping Beauty... right." He reached up and ran his hand through his hair. "Think if I kiss you, you'll wake up?"

Half-joking; a forced, stupid grin.

His smile fell, as Flash simply sat with the alien held in his hand. Alive, and weirdly present even if he couldn't speak or really control his body. Like... if Peter were a little more attuned he might be able to feel his heartbeat and emotions. Just a little more, almost there. Simply bridge the gap in communication, like fixing a busted radio receiver.

Peter leaned forward, down a little, to close the distance between the two of them.

Just a soft, careful kiss. Caught on the corner of Flash's mouth.

But Peter wasn't Prince Charming, as much as he acted like it, and the only response he got was a slight shift in Flash's breathing.

That was something, though. Flash was right there. He just needed time. Even if he never fully recovered, he was alive and breathing and maybe someday he wouldn't look so tired and sad. He'd already gained a little bit of weight and color, with Peter and that nurse taking care of him. Even if Flash never regained control over his muscles, or the ability to talk, or whatever else, he was still there and he could still _feel_.

And if he needed it, Peter would be there for him until the end of the world. 

Gently, Peter leaned against Flash's still form, letting his head rest on Flash's broad shoulder. The space just below his neck. Careful not to put any real weight on him in case he accidentally pushed him away.

Flash just breathed slowly, like he always did, with Peter's hand over his. Motionless except for the slight rise and fall of his chest and the tiny beat of his pulse, just under his skin.


	2. Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introspection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to add a part 2

Things Flash could not do in his current state:

  1. Go to the bathroom by himself
  2. Walk
  3. Or, for that matter, move most of his body
  4. Speak, or sing, or complain loudly about how much this sucked ass
  5. Laugh
  6. Tell Peter to kiss him again



Things Flash could do in his current state:

  1. Close and open his eyes, very slowly
  2. Sometimes look around
  3. Move his fingers, a little bit
  4. Breathe, swallow, sigh, sometimes whine a little tiny bit
  5. Drool. A lot.
  6. Sometimes smile a little, but it was difficult, and honestly he didn't have a lot to smile about lately.



Off and on in his half-dreaming, half-conscious state, sometimes itchy but he couldn’t scratch, sometimes sore but he couldn't move to stretch his muscles or change his position until Peter or the nurse decided it was time for him to lay down. Half the time he didn't even know whether or not he had actually woken up or not. He slept strangely and he woke strangely, and everything moved around him in a kind of muffled haze most of the time. The most similar thing he could think of in the past was getting elbowed in the head so hard during a football game he temporarily lost vision.

It wasn’t all bad, despite the miasma of depression wrapping him up.

Peter's neighbors—Flash's neighbors, too, now—were loud but friendly. They always let him hold one of the controllers when they played video games, even though he couldn't actually play or even say thank you. They sometimes got distracted but they smiled at him and touched his shoulders and talked to him.

The nurse was brusque, and huge, and a lot of the time his addled brain found it difficult to understand her accent, but she didn't treat him like a baby, which was nice. Very matter-of-fact. Sometimes she sat in a chair nearby, knitting, and told him stories of her life.

MJ came over sometimes, and she teased Flash and Peter just the same. Her two favorite men, handsome, so on.

It was nice, to see her. She brightened the space up so much, with gossip and nicknames and outrageous impromptu soliloquys. And Peter seemed to relax around her. Flash didn't blame him. Her presence was a balm, familiar and soothing and bubbly.

On Friday nights—probably Friday? It was hard to know the day of the week. He certainly didn't know the date.

Autumn, maybe.

On Friday nights, MJ and Peter made dinner together, in Peter's tiny kitchen, smiling and laughing and brushing hands and playing music, and usually Aunt May came over too, and brought a loaf of bread in a pretty velvet cover, which she always insisted Flash touch to feel how soft it was. There were candles, and wine (grape juice for Flash), and Peter never let anyone do anything after sunset.

And the next day, Betty always came over to watch a movie, and he wouldn't let her do anything either, even when she teased him. Even himself, he did things in awkward ways, with his elbow or a pencil or something else. He never answered the phone but he listened to the answering machine, and sometimes he disappeared for a while.

But he did that every day.

He would see something on the TV, or hear it on the radio—he always had the radio on—and he would run out of the apartment and come back with one of his neighbors or else leave Flash with Nurse Helga, or Betty, or MJ, if they were around. And then he'd run off and be gone for hours.

When he came back, he always looked exhausted. Sometimes cut up or bruised or bleeding.

But he always worried more about Flash, and if he was okay, than he ever worried about himself...

...It must have been weeks since Peter joked about Flash being Sleeping Beauty.

Flash still didn't know if it had been a dream or not, but it was burned in great detail into his memory. Peter had never treated him with that kind of gentleness, before the accident. Normally he griped and joked and slapped Flash's back, but now he moved very carefully and quietly, with small brushes of his fingertips.

In some ways, Flash hated it. He didn't like feeling breakable—but obviously, he was, considering the state of his bones and his brain and his body. Considering how sometimes he could barely parse his surroundings or the things Peter said to him, let alone anyone else.

In other ways—no one had ever really treated Flash like this before, except Betty, sometimes. But even she was so playful and bold and stubborn.

Flash wasn't used to being touched so gently, so _often_.

Constantly.

He kind of never wanted it to end.

He also wanted to be able to wipe his own ass, though.

So.

Win some, lose some.

Maybe when things got a little clearer, when he could talk again, he would ask Peter for another kiss.

...Maybe everyone else, too.

No harm in asking, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by "everyone else" I mean "betty and mj" really
> 
>  **college friend group status:**  
>  gwen: dead  
> harry: dead  
> flash: vegetable  
> peter: alive  
> mj: alive
> 
> this is clearly a pretty different vibe from the first part. actual scenes vs pure exposition.... shrug


End file.
